Alien
by Maya Sushi
Summary: "On Earth?" Alfons pondered aloud, hiding his snicker of amusement rather horribly, and honestly considering accusing him of being an alien, just for kicks. A series of COS one-shots, for Heiderich's sake.
1. Chapter 1

****_Mmmm... **I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist**. Even the crappy 2003 version that I still sort of love, just considerably less than the rest of it._

_So, hello world of fanfiction I had abandoned for so long! Yadda yadda, I was gone, stuff, and excuses, and blah blah blah, here I am. These are one-shots.../...drabb...les... with Heidrich included, because even though he was a shitty doppleganger, I liked him as a character by himself. :D Anyway!_

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><p><strong>Alien<strong>

**.**

**Eyes**

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><p>"I've seen other Americans," Alfons says one day, out of nowhere, because it's something that he's been worrying over since day one. Since the moment he met Edward.<p>

Edward, who, at this moment, looks up from his book and blinks at him with momentary confusion. It only takes his sharp mind a second to analyze his words, his expression, everything, and Alfons can tell just by the look on his face that whatever he's about to say next is sarcastic plus one thousand. So he continues speaking.

"...but!" He has to be quick to interrupt, but once he has Edward intent once more, he almost always listens intensely to everything he has to say, "none of them had golden eyes. I thought it was an American trait, but apparently it's not. I'm not even entirely sure how it's possible at all."

"That's because it's not," Edward answers simply, as if it is the explanation for everything, "not here, at least, and I'm not American."

He immediately turns back to his book, deeming the conversation over. He's wrong.

Alfons isn't quite sure how he can say something like that and then pretend like he doesn't expect questions to be asked.

"You said that you were," he points out, moving toward his golden-haired friend and promptly removing the book from his hands. He knew from experience that this was the only way to ensure Edward wouldn't lose track of the fact that they were talking, or, more likely, purposefully pretend that he was distracted. (Because Edward always listened attentively to everything that he had to say, but if he didn't want to talk, then he... Well... _Wouldn't.)_

His cry of protest was ignored as Alfons settled into the chair on the opposite side of the table, tossing the thick volume somewhere behind him. This was something that he's pretty sure he would not have done a few month prior, but Edward was constantly rubbing off on him. His friend's hands followed the movement, in an act that looked equal parts childish and comical, his mouth agape.

He's flirting dangerously with the beginnings of a full-blown "smart ass Ed" now and he knows it. Hopefully, though, the conversation will serve to sober him up a little.

"...and you can't have gold eyes if it's impossible," he pointed out, feeling quite positive that there was no possible way to refute that without expounding on the fact that Edward was... _mentally unstable. _Perhaps admission to his lunacy could be brought about?

Yeah right.

"You're the one who said it wasn't possible in the first place, _arsloch,_" Edward grinds the words out between sharply clenched teeth, his foul tone matching his tremendous grimace. Said yellow-amber eyes flickered menacingly, as if even that feature alone knew they were questioning its very existence, "I just agreed with you."

"I just don't see how –"

"The DNA configurations have more available possibilities in Amestris, though it was rare even there, because golden-eyed people had been all but exterminated. The melanin in my eyes is of a much more radical combination than your own, or any other person here, they're –"

"On _Earth?" _Alfons pondered aloud, hiding his snicker of amusement rather horribly, and honestly considering accusing him of being an alien, just for kicks.

"Yeah, Alfons, on Earth," Edward's response comes in the from of a long, drawn out exhale of breath, a clear sigh, and there was a certain amount of patience in his tone. The change was immediate. He'd deflated him.

He locked down the same way he did every time that Alfons laughed at him.

He hadn't meant to, not really.

And he shouldn't care, Edward would forgive him – he always forgave him, _immediately, _for everything – and he _was _crazy...

...but he couldn't help but feel guilty as he watched the golden-eyed man slink away.

Not to mention he was sure he'd never find out another thing about the eyes he'd been so curious about. There wasn't a chance in hell.

_Way to go, Alfons._


	2. Chapter 2

_**I don't own FMA.**_

_And another! Whoa, Maya, you're updating this really soon! That's crazy! Yeah. I know. I feel crazy._

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><p><strong>Alien<strong>

.

**What Happened to Wednesday?**

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><p>At first it occurs to Alfons that Edward is forgetful. That he is eccentric and impulsive and studious and crazy.<p>

And he is.

But it's not these things that account for the supervision that he requires. Edward works like a steam engine, one that doesn't think it needs any steam to go, and Alfons is completely astounded that he has even managed to stay alive for this long. He's taken over the job of worrying mother and he's never imagined that he'd be in that position. It's very strange.

_Jesus, _though, if Edward would just _listen._

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Alfons did not rise to the bait, because honestly, he had no idea what it looked like. He hardly thought that he wanted to know. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Is it my day to cook dinner?" Ed inquired offhand, sounding terribly distracted, "because yeah, I get that I should remember, but why do you keep fooling yourself? _None _of the food I make is even _possible _to ingest, if I didn't know better I'd say you were a masochist, do you enjoy –"

"Edward –"

"having your dinner coming –"

"Edward –"

"back out your mouth so soon after –"

"_Ed!"_

He froze at that, _finally_, and his insistent babbling was halted. He was overtired, clearly, if his attitude and loose lips were anything to go by. And they were. Not only that but he had no idea that – _ugh, _why did he have to deal with this?

"Edward, it's four o' clock in the morning, and it's a little late to make us dinner," with a seconds pause for thought, and because he couldn't resist, he quickly added, "or for you to purposefully ruin the food and make a terrible mess so that maybe I'll let you stop making food all together."

"You're kidding!" Ed balked, dropping whatever strange screw-driver-like tool that had been in his hand, "and I do not do that. I am genuinely terrible at cooking."

"No, I'm not kidding," there was a certain amount of patience in his tone, always, and he wondered if Edward could hear how the rest of it was pure exasperation, "and yes you do do that."

His hands were moving again in the next moment, he was not deterred, and it was infuriating, "So, we're having breakfast then?"

Alfons has to sigh, has to run a hand through his short hair and count to ten, "I don't know Ed, when's the last time _you _had breakfast?"

"Tuesday morning, I think."

Alfons frowned, "It's Thursday."

"Really? What happened to Wednesday?"

He comes to realize, eventually, that Edward simply has no regard what so ever for any physical aspect of his body. Externally, perhaps, he's the most fit cripple that Alfons has ever seen (though he's not seen many – and none of them are at all like Edward). He's also – admittedly – the most fit man that Alfons had ever met, period. There was an incredible amount of strength and agility compacted into his small body. Somehow, though, despite his insatiable appetite and ability to basically fall asleep on command, he still _forgets _to do these things all together.

"_You _happened to Wednesday," Alfons quips, but Edward obviously does not hear him. The way his eyes move back to... whatever the hell it is that he's constructing, Alfons knows that communicating with him has become a lost cause. But he at least figures it's worth one last try before he truly goes incommunicado.

"So, you'll be making breakfast then?" Alfons chances, if not because he's stubborn than at least to remind Edward of the necessity of food. Also, he _is _a bit hungry himself, and sleepy, since Edward had woken him with worry and, lord above, _really_ loud noises.

"Good luck with that."

Then Alfons realizes that whatever Ed is – essentially – _destroying, _looks a lot like the top half of the oven.


	3. Chapter 3

_So I wrote this last night, on my iPhone. Just typed away at like two in the freaking morning. It was pretty crazy, but also, that is my excuse for all the things that are probably wrong with it. Don't you love the way I just make excuses instead of making sure it's better? ... :) Love you guys._

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><p><strong>Alien.<strong>

**.**

**Inquisition**

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><p>Alfons rolled over to his other side, his back pressed firmly against the couch and his gaze settled on Edward. He was at the kitchen table, a mug of what Alfons deduced consisted mainly of sugar - and <em>maybe<em> a bit of coffee - forgotten beside him. His golden eyes were focused intently on the paper before him, where he was drawing complicated circles that Alfons knew he would never understand, no matter how many times Edward would attempt to explain it to him.

The pen he was using scratched away at the paper at an almost alarming rate. And despite the ink being permanent to the soft white sheet that lay upon their table, Alfons knew this made no difference. Edward never made anything less than perfect circles. Sometimes his single minded determination daunted Alfons. It was something about Edward - one of many things actually - that he just couldn't seem to get a grasp on. He could shut out everything around him for increasingly long periods of time, even forgetting to eat or sleep until his goal was reached. Alfons considered this very important information to include, as eating and sleeping were things that his roommate very much enjoyed partaking in.

There was something of an anomaly that he had been noticing lately. And he figured that he would not be ill advised to make an experiment out of it. It was difficult to find things out about his friend in any other way. Additionally, if asked directly, there was also the possibility that Edward would provide you with an entirely improbable answer, and yet believe it to be truth. He tried to avoid those moments as often as he could. Which was less and less often every day.

Anyway, the day had been a terrible bore so far. The weather was too bad for any escapades, and although the shopping needed desperately to be done he wasn't going to brave the storm out there just for milk and bread. He and the lads had decided to take a break on work today, as research had been progressing quite well as of late and no one particularly felt like being whisked away by the intensity of the winds. Edward was completely and helplessly absorbed in this "new theory" he had shouted about in excitement approximately four hours ago, and had not moved since he sat down.

A good a time as any, Alfons thought.

"I was wondering..." he began, watching as Edward resolutely ignored the hell out of him, not even showing any sign of hearing him at all. He turned to look at the ceiling, attempting to appear nonchalant. It was more of an attempt to be inconspicuous for his own pesky qualms, rather than an actual concern that Edward would be suspicious he is up to something. He just can't help being a little paranoid when addressing someone with that massive of an intellect and attempting subterfuge. Though most likely Edward's current attention span held no space for Alfons' body language. He probably would even glance his way.

"It was just a passing thought, not that you're going to be interested or anything. Probably wouldn't even know the answer," Alfons trailed off for a moment, glancing at Edward from the corner of his eye. Precisely as he had expected, the man hadn't moved a muscle, at least one that wasn't in his left hand, still detailing the circles spanning his notes. He wasn't paying a lick of attention. Maybe this wouldn't work after all.

Alfons pitched his tone lower, into a baritone that would serve to disguise his voice to any sleeping person. And perhaps enable him to worm his way into the distracted psyche of his dear, strange friend.

"Whats the chemical make up of..." he has to pause for a moment. He wanted to think up something a bit unusual, at least to start. "... Of the Earth." he finally finished, feeling a bit smug.

"Thirty-two point one percent iron. Thirty point one percent oxygen. Fifteen point one percent silicon. Thirteen point nine percent magnesium." He rattled off the numbers like a machine, and didn't look up once. Alfons was sure too, as he had abandoned his guileful casual pose in favor of staring unabashed at Edward with more than a bit of shock.

So, his experiment was going according to his hypothesis so far. But there was no way for him to immediately check if Edward's calculations were true, which he doubted very much. Which would mean that the man had to be listening to him rather than functioning on autopilot, because otherwise he wouldn't have answered him at all, right? If he was going to joke!

"Electronegativity of Yttrium?"

"1.22"

"Atomic mass of Nobium?"

"92.90638."

Alfons pursed his lips, and although this one was considerably more childish, he took a second to figure out a basic math question on a piece of paper lying atop the coffee table. One that at least had numbers someone would actually have to take a moment to put together. "1278926002 multiplied by 2678 and then divided by 1.002?"

There wasn't even a pause, "3.4181275781996 times 10 to the 12th power. "

Alfons frowned, scientific notation and everything. What a crazy smart ass. He found himself warring between an extreme feeling of irritation and a fond adoration for his friend. After the small internal conflict, he just decided to feel like asking more questions.

"What's the chemical composition of the cotton fibers in of my shirt?"

"Ninety-five percent cellulose One point three percent protein. One point two percent ash. Point six percent wax. Point three percent sugar. Point eight percent organic acids. Three point one percent various other chemical  
>The non-cellulose chemicals of cotton consist of protein, ash, wax, sugar and organic acids. Found in the cuticle of the fiber. Cotton wax is found on the outer surface of the fiber. The more wax found on the cotton, the greater the surface area of the cotton, the finer the cotton."<p>

Well that was... Extremely detailed. Alfons took a moment to finger the slightly frayed collar of his shirt. Well, he was certainly lacking a certain amount of surface area, that was for sure. He hadn't worn fine cotton since he was a child.

With a start and stifling an I characteristic giggle that threatened to escape his mouth in response to his manipulation of Edward, he realized that perhaps the elongated answer was a product of being questioned multiple times. Or maybe the subject had just required a more thorough explanation. Why Edward would even find a reason to keep information like the exact percentage of chemicals making up the fibers of a cotton shirt in his brain was beyond him. He'd flirted once with the idea that Edward had a photographic memory, and he'd read all these strange factual snippets somewhere and they'd been forever ingrained into his memory. This theory had been disproved, however, when Edward consistently forgot about things that he should rather remember. Things that shouldn't be THAT difficult to keep track of; like proper social behavior and going out to do the shopping once in a god damn while. Additionally, the fact that he had replaced many of his recent and dated memories with farce information was telling of something far more psychological than a brilliant memory.

Alfons wondered if being that crazy was just the only path to being that intelligent. A trade off of sorts. What was Edward always preaching about?

Oh, that's right: equivalent exchange.

"Uh... The first all metal plane, Junkers D-I. Care to explain it to me?"

Edward once again did not hesitate a moment, yet his eyebrows did, however subconsciously, knit downward in confusion, "We don't have planes yet."

Alfons, sensing a bit of psychosis creeping up, thought over whether or not it was good to continue. He figured maybe he could just try again, maybe reword it. But not now, right now he didn't want to deal with a deluded friend, desperately seeking a world that didn't exist. Right now he didn't think he could handle that.

Alfons felt this put a damper on his mischievous mood. At least a bit.

It was three nights later that he resumed his experiment. Best not try everything at once anyway, he hypothesized, as he snuck into Edward's room once he was sure the young man was properly asleep. It was four in the morning, as it had been an interested-in-everything day for Edward, and this tended to mean he wouldn't make his way into bed until the beginning hours of what would be, essentially, tomorrow.

Except it was today. And - god be damned Alfons was so tired he was rambling in his OWN head. Interested-in-everything days didn't just wear the physical being out of Edward (this would be evident tomorrow when he continued to sleep like a rock throughout their entire Thursday) it downright put Alfons in a short mood as well.

Stifling a yawn that probably wouldn't give him away even if he had felt the need to scream in the middle of it, that's how soundly he was sure Edward was sleeping, he creeped up to his friends bedside. Watching the steady rise and fall of this odd fellows chest, the gentle exhalation of his breath, and the soft fall of his hair against his tanned, slightly exotic features was endlessly strange. To see him so without motion was a shock, for Edward was always moving, always animated, even in stillness you could see his thoughts running sprints around his skull as if he stopped thinking for a moment the world would explode. Maybe both of them.

Squashing the thought of Edward's imaginary world before it could deter him, Alfons nudged his friend hard in the side a few time until he got him muttering feeble protests in his whiny, complaintive voice, the one he used when he wanted to annoy Alfons the most. The he pitched his voice low once more, easily stating the predetermined revisal of his previous question.

"Junkers D-I. All metal plane. Invented by Hugo Junkers in 1918," Alfons paused, then frowned a bit at the strangeness of his new strategy, "on Earth. Performance data?"

That seemed to stir the right response, it seemed Edward's brain just needed to categorize things a bit. His voice was a garbled grumble of half snores and half tired sighs, but it was understandable all the same. "Type: fighter. Engine: 180 hp BMW. Wing Span: 9 meters. Length: 7.25 meters. Height: 2.25 meters. Maximum Speed: 185 kilometers per hour. Maximum Height: 6,000 meters. Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes. Armament: 2 machine-guns."

That was spectacular.

So this checked out at least. It now stood to reason that a sleeping Edward was susceptible to the same stimuli to elicit this strange response as a the following: drunk Edward (though this was considerably scarier, as it was hard to make him stop, and much of it was terrifying subject matter), beyond-normality single-mindedly focused Edward, fevered Edward (once again a bit disconcerting, though not quite as stressful as when he took to drink), extremely cold Edward, groggy, just-woke-up Edward, and high Edward (on an occasion when a man from the lab challenged his intelligence and somehow got him to shoot up cocaine, the whole experience, particularly the aftermath, was not one he liked to recall.).

Alfons kept up his experiments for a long time. Though by now it was a just a long going inside joke that he thoroughly enjoyed with himself, thiugh he expected that occasionally Edward would catch on, and continue simply to humor him. There was no soubt in his mind, however, that upon catching Edward at exactly the right time he would simply answer any question with any predetermined thought.

Once, attempting to push the limits and asking Edward one day - when he was helplessly absorbed in a book of algorithms that he had informed Alfons earlier he found boring, but was looking especially enamored with the text despite this admonishment - if he knew the exact calculations of the number pi. After mindlessly repeating a litany of numbers for just under a half an hour he trailed off, looking understandably confused, and proceeded to glare at a still snickering Alfons.

"What the fuck are you giggling about?" Edward snapped, but his mouth twitched as it he wanted to smile as well. When Alfons finally collapsed into full out guffaws, Edward was quick to follow.

"Did you seriously ask me... How long ago...?" his questions were short, a bit bewildered, and choked with laughter.

Alfons just laughed harder, "Oh... Christ Edward! So long ago!"

Sensing he wasn't just talking about the last question, Edward blinked, "You've been doing this for a long time?"

Alfons smiled, "Of course, and just because you caught on, doesn't mean you'll be able to stop. I'm sure of it."

"I hate you so much."

"I feel smarter for it! I promise."

"Go to hell."

Alfons just smiled.

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><p><em>I have no idea where this one came from really... <em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi! It's been a while! This is just something I wrote during Art History after I was too late to take my test... Ergh._

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><p><strong>Alien<strong>

**.**

**Photograph**

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><p>He had expected it to be much harder to convince his strange friend to pose in a photograph with him, but it had been a surprisingly easy compromise.<p>

Alfons wanted an image of their friendship. They may have been two fractured, crazy, reclusive people and he might be on the fast track to a miserable death, but he wanted to be remembered. Most of all, he wanted Edward to remember.

Hopefully, he would have a rocket to remind everyone else, but Edward would need something more emotionally substantial, he was sure. And he didn't want him to forget, for both of them. He was so, so worried. Worried that if Edward were to lose another "brother", he would lose what was left of his sanity. He was Edward's only true friend right now, for all he knew ever, and Edward couldn't be alone.

But he had no choice but to leave him.

Edward had been staring at the picture for the past five minutes, squinting his eyes like it had offended him. He was looking at the image as if it was broken, needed to be fixed, and Alfons was just happy that they had taken one at all. He still had to try not to care too much.

The photograph and what it represented to him was important though, at least to him, and the look Edward was giving it was making him a little upset. Goodness, could he look at it any longer? He obviously hated it! Why didn't he say anything?

Alfons watched him for another moment, sitting alone at the kitchen table while Edward leaned his back against the counter. He called his name, and because he had plenty of experience with Edward, made sure to say it a second time twice as loud, and then a third. If there was anything Alfons knew about a focused Edward it was that he was hard to get ahold of, wherever he went when he was thinking was very far away.

"Maybe as far away as Amestris," he thought, snorting at his own joke. Immediately afterward, he felt bad, even if he hadn't said it out loud.

Edward's delusions seemed so real, and from what he knew of mental illness, to Edward, they were real, very much so. He shouldn't make fun of something that his friend can't help, can't control, because of something that happened to him to make him that way. For all he knew it was something horrible. Maybe his brother really had died, he knew Edward's father was still alive and somewhere, or else he had been. Edward didn't really talk to or about his father ever so he could have kicked the bucket in the time since he'd first seen the man. And...

"Alfons… hey! Alfons!" He looked up to see Edward sitting down in the chair in front of him, pulling the wooden piece of furniture out roughly and causing a commotion, even just in the act of sitting. He clearly could never be expected to behave rationally.

"Yo, Rocket Boy, you were saying my name…" Edward drawled, and Alfons realized that he had been lost in his own thoughts just as his friend had been. He blushed. They were more alike than he liked to admit.

"Yeah, I just-"

"Alfons this picture SUCKS!"

He hadn't even broached the subject and Edward was already passionately saying the worst things possible. What was so bad about it?

"Edward! There's nothing wrong with-"

"I just think that maybe I'm in the wrong branch of research here,"

Oh no, if he would just stop interrupting him, they could talk about this. Did for some reason this picture clue Edward in on the futility of what they were doing? They needed Edward, what could have possibly made him decide from that picture that he wanted to change his goals and leave their project? He had the most amazing grasp of formulas and concepts that had never even been attempted, he was going to turn this around, to make it all work. They could do it, build their rocket, but not without him. Why would he even say that? It was just a picture, what the hell?  
>"...the color was awesome, you don't even know."<p>

"What?" He must have drifted off again. Good God he was almost as bad as Edward!

"I said maybe I should have worked on cameras instead, started some sort of fantastic business and got color photography up and running. This picture is horrible, it's so plain. In Amestris we had color photography years ago! I don't understand how you guys could have invented such neat things and still be lacking so much. I mean, flying machines! That is awesome. But would it kill a guy to make prettier pictures and some automail?"

Alfons stared at him.

He was so weird.

He had him all stressed out for nothing.

Obviously he needed to get a grip on himself, he must be under a little too much stress.

Or maybe this picture was more for him than he realized.

Edward was still mumbling about his apparent confusion over the pick-and-choose advancements of this world in comparison to his own when Alfons grabbed the picture out of his hand. He turned it around, pointing at the two of them, their apartment front serving as a backdrop. He blushed profusely, and then set his mouth in a firm line.

"It looks plenty pretty to me!" He practically yelped, his eyebrows slanting in some sort of accusation, "we look great!"

Edward was quiet for a beat, and then burst out laughing.

"Yeah but who's the prettiest?" he teased, "You for sure. Especially after standing next to that big ball of many toughness!"

"Shut up! I am not pretty!"

"Are too, a pretty, pretty princess!"

"Well you're not a big ball of anything!"

…

"Did you just call me short?"

The kitchen chair squeaked hard against the floor as Edward rose, and Alfons almost knocked his over in his attempt to run to his bedroom and lock himself inside.


End file.
